


Hank's Big Day

by orphan_account



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Hank's special day. Everyone's busy but Brock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hank's Big Day

**Author's Note:**

> i've read a lot of different things on the boys being 16 or 19 but idk with all the mixed er...genetics in there i'm just pretending they were 16 at the time of the show and this takes place when hank's 18. hope that makes sense!

Hank's already searched through the drawers and the closet. He's already used up all the hotel soap and all the conditioner. He thought about combing his hair back, but decided against it. He runs his fingers through it and groans, falling back on the bed.  
  
Waiting is the worst thing in the world. He's tried watching TV, but this stupid motel doesn't get any reception. Figures. With Hank's stupid luck, he's not even gonna show up.  
  
Then, like magic, someone knocks on the door. Hank flies off the mattress, poking his head in the mirror one last tiem and running his fingers through his hair again a couple times. He tests his breath and hopes it doesn't smell too much like Cap'n Crunch, and he opens the door.  
  
'Hey, Hank,' Brock says.  
  
He's as huge as ever, a jacket thrown over his shoulder. It's a different jacket, one Hank hasn't seen before.  
  
'Hi,' Hank manages to choke out. He doesn't know when he got so nervous. It's just _Brock_.  
  
But it's _Brock._  
  
"You're all grown up." Brock smiles. Just a slant of his mouth. It's still enough to make Hank's stomach flip and flop.  
  
"You too," hank says. He wants to slap himself.  
  
Brock chuckles. "Right. Can I come in?"  
  
Hank jumps out of the way. Brock's carrying a small duffel bag and he sets it on the chair. It makes a clunking noise. Probably guns. Then he sits down on the bed. Hank sits down next to him.  
  
Brock takes a good look around the room. "It's uh...cozy in here."  
  
Hank shrugs. "I didn't know where else to go. I wanted some privacy"  
  
"That's alright," Brock says. "No complaints."  
  
They sit.  
  
"Happy birthday," Brock says.  
  
"Thanks," Hank replies. "I don't really feel...any different."  
  
"Well," Brock says, and then he chuckles. It washes over Hank. "Eighteen's a pretty big one. I remember my eighteenth birthday..."  
  
"Yeah well, everyone's _busy_ today," Hank says, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Even Dean. Even _Dermott_."  
  
"Well," Brock repeats, leaning back on his hands, "I'm here, right? Doesn't mean you and I can't have a _real_ night on the town together."  
  
Hank brightens immediately. "What? You mean it, Brock? Just you and me?"  
  
"Of course I mean it," Brock says. "I'll let even let you have a beer or two."  
  
" _Whoa_ ," Hank says. "Cool."  


*  


They don't make it out on the town. They don't even make it out of the hotel room. One beer and Hank's on his side, clutching his stomach. Figures.  
  
"I don't feel good," Hank mumbles.  
  
Brock sighs. "Yeah... Next time I'll get some of those... you know, the ones that are like mixed drinks in a can. You'd like those. They have strawberry ones."  
  
He runs a hand through Hank's hair. Hank already feels better. He feels kind of warm and fuzzy, even. Brock's fingers are big and rough. They brush Hank's ear.  It tingles.  
  
"Brock?" Hank asks.  
  
"Yeah?" Brock replies.  
  
"I'm sorry," Hank says. "This has gotta be the lamest birthday I've ever had."  
  
Brock chuckles. "Trust me, it's not. Just look at you.You're almost as tall as me now, Hank. I'm proud of you. You know, I didn't think... never mind."  
  
"What?" Hank asks. He sits up on his elbows and that makes his head spin a little, but it doesn't matter once Brock's hand is on his shoulder. It's so familiar it hurts.  
  
"Steady," Brock says. He pats Hank's shoulder a couple of times. Then he pauses, like he's unsure. Hank's not unsure--he's always had dreamed about this--but he doesn't know where to start. Or how to start, for that matter. Or when to start. Or what to start--  
  
Brock squeezes his shoulder. Hank turns his head too fast and gets a crick in his neck.  
  
"Ow," he says, but before he can reach up Brock's fingers are already taking care of it. They massage the muscle until Hank's entire back aches, and every time Hank tries to say something the words get stuck in his throat.  
  
"That better?" Brock asks. He's always been good at that; at making the hurt and the scary things go away. Nothing can ever beat Brock. He's unbeatable.  
  
He looks a lot older. Hank's not the smartest crayon in the shed but he knows what Brock's face looks like. The lines around his eyes and mouth are deeper. His eyes are ringed with dark circles but his hair's still the same. It's poofy and long, and Hank wants to touch it. He reaches out and plays with the tuft in the front. Brock even lets him curl his fingers through it a couple of times. Brock sighs, and Hank feels the vibrations through his own body. This isn't too bad.

Brock smells really good. And he's staring at Hank again. 

"What?" Hank asks, more insistently this time. He even shaved this morning, but there wasn't really much to shave and he might have cut himself anyway. Maybe that's what Brock's looking at. 

 "Nothing, Hank," Brock chuckles. "You're just... it's hard not to see you like a little kid again, all in diapers and drooling from the mouth."  
  
"You mean like a baby," Hank corrects him.  
  
"Yeah, yeah." Brock clears his throat, looking away. Then he grins again, like the smile's just sneaking up on his face. "You know, this one time--"  
  
" _Brock_ ," Hank whines. He doesn't want to talk about being a baby. That's stupid. It's not why they're here.  
  
"Hank," Brock echoes. "Take it easy."  
  
Hank's face heats up. It's not fair. It's not fair that Brock's hand is so warm. It's not fair that his voice is so comforting. And what's worst of all is that it's always made Hank feel like exploding, like living without Brock is like living without breathing. And Brock's been gone. Andthat part's really sucked.  
  
It all sucks, and maybe it's because of the beer or it's because Hank doesn't care anymore, he says, "Brock."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I really wanna like... kiss you, and stuff." Hank leans up again, his face serious, looking straight at Brock. Like a real man.  
  
Brock's cigarette falls out of his mouth. "Wow," he laughs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. "You're the biggest lightweight I've ever seen."  
  
Hank scoffs, hurt. "I'm serious, Brock! I've had a crush on you like, forever! I got something, anyway. I always have to go to the bathroom when I think about it."  
  
"Right..." Brock says. He puts out his cigarette and lights another one. "You don't want to get a crush on me, kid. Are you really serious?"  
  
Hank purses his lips. "Well, yeah. I guess. I mean, I wouldn't be saying it if I wasn't, right?"  
  
Brock shrugs. "You might be."  
  
Hank grabs the front of Brock's shirt to pull him down. Brock doesn't budge, of course. It's Brock.  
  
"Just do it," Hank says. "C'mon. You're not my bodyguard anymore, remember?"  
  
Brock sighs. "Hank, there are a million reasons why I _shouldn't_ do exactly this."  
  
Hank groans and falls back down again. "I thought you loved me."  
  
He closes his eyes, the frown still on his face. But right as he's falling asleep, he feels big fingers turning his chin.  
  
Brock smells even more like cigarettes up close, like cigarettes and beer and cologne and sweat. He smells perfect. He's got stubble on his chin and it scrapes Hank's chin. He starts to pull away but Hank holds on tight, tilting his head and kissing Brock harder.  
  
Brock's hands go to his waist. He's only holding Hank steady, but Hank sinks into the touch.  
  
He's okay right here.


End file.
